De Profundis
by Ancient Campfire
Summary: Midi's father develops an obsession with a civilization lost to time and goes missing on duty. Martingale, his father's longtime friend, returns to the Badlands at the site of a regional conflict to search for him. They both uncover dreadful and subterrestrial secrets... Rated M only for macabre events. An A/U fanfic!
1. Chapter 1

**~A/N~**

 **Here's my first story on Fanfiction.**

 **I'll be updating this story weekly.**

 **This will be a short tale of horror.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **~End A/N~**

 **Day 1**

Bright, golden sunbeams touched the windowpane of a humble residence on the outskirts of Baltimare, passing through and falling upon a well-made bed. This bed was also empty, for Midi had yet again fallen asleep at his writing desk. Morning rays and the familiar trill of various songbirds were not sufficient to rouse him, especially after falling asleep only an hour before. He was lost in dreams; dreams where his beloved collections of fable and fantasy tales were braided with reality. Fortunately, the din of city life was distant, and would never wake him. Unfortunately, his nature-nestled home was not always so private, especially when visitors insisted on arriving at hours so early that he hadn't known they existed.

* _knock knock knock knock_ *

Midi was stirred from his deficient sleep, willing just enough energy and coordination to plod over to his front door and pull it open. An armored stallion stood smiling before him, and extended his greetings.

"Good morning. I presume you're Midnight Oil?"

Midi's response was an affirmative grumble. He was especially displeased by the bright gleam of his royal suit, apparently in valiant contest with the sun. ' _Who wants to know?'_

"Ah, good. I'm Martingale, an old friend of your father's. Worked alongside him for years. But... I'm afraid I must be the bearer of bad news."

Midi, now more fully awake, noticed his change in tone, and felt a steadily growing concern when he realized he hadn't seen his father or written to him in a long time.

"Is something wrong?" he inquired. Martingale sighed sadly.

"Your father has been missing for several days. There isn't much information at this point, but I can tell you what I know. May I come in?"A dormant paranoia surfaced in Midi's thoughts.

"Uhm... Of course, come in."

"I see you've been studying his work," noted Martingale, eyeing a stack of open textbooks. Among them were titles referring to ancient history, philosophy, astronomy, and more.

"He's a well-read guy."

Midi wasn't sure whether he wanted to make small talk in light of the serious situation, but played along for the moment.

"Certainly. Do you think his work has anything to do with why he's missing?"

Sudden and dark memories of recent circumstances struck Martingale, and the soft daylight of the living room seemed to shrink away.

"..I'm not sure."

"Well, what do you actually know?" Midi pressed.

"A week ago, some of the Royal Guards were called to resolve a regional conflict between two or three small settlements near the Badlands. Nothing we'd normally have to handle if it weren't for reports of railroad tracks being regularly blocked by rocks and boulders. Four of us were checking out the area, and the other two spoke with locals while your father and I investigated the rocks."

"He'd rushed back to me, claiming to have come across a significant find, something about... Gahal, he called them. Some ancient culture from the area, he was saying."

Midi recognized the obscure name, referenced only twice in any early records known to historians, and even contemporary sources had but a scant description to offer. Extremely isolated, simple, and tribal, the Gahal had no agriculture, hardly any tools, and never spoke. Their only lasting impression on the natural world was in the form of cryptic depictions of bizarre rituals and oddly carven stones that lay broken in various places.

"He'd come back to focus on our duties, at first. We'd cleared the boulders, and talked to everyone in the area, including the conductor that crossed the tracks every other day, at least until the tracks were too damaged for use. Nothing was amiss at first glance, but we stuck around to see if we could find out where the rocks were coming from." Martingale's emotions anticipated what followed in his recounting of recent events.

"He kept returning to the discovery he made in the hills, using every watch break he could. Whenever he spoke with the rest of us, he had no interest in the situation. I'd catch him sneaking out after we retired for the evening. The last night before we left he actually spent the night in a cave up there, I saw the light of his campfire in the distance. He never returned after that.."

Midi's thoughts were upon himself in a strange way, as if he could see himself going mad from such a desolate landscape with nothing to do for days. ' _Of course I'd be up there, studying lost history! Who cares about some boulders..'_ Midi thought. Martingale continued.

"I searched the caves that day. I searched for hours, and I didn't find anything. I saw the symbols he seemed obsessed with. But those caves were expansive, you could get lost for hours, and I probably would have. In fact I feel great cowardice for leaving at all. I came straight back to Baltimare after delivering a report on both situations in the area, and came straight to you. The Royal Guard will take days to send someone new to search for him. Luckily the mailmare was out at the right time, so I was able to track you down."

Midi felt a sense of determination after knowing that the search area was narrowly greatly, though any excitement from a historical discovery had been suspended by the dire situation.

"We're going to the Badlands."

In Martingale's mind, he had not entirely revealed the horror of what he had seen, but he knew full well that the explanation given to his best friend's son had left no room for any excuse to stop him from searching. There was a very real danger that he was reluctant to face again, and only for his sake would he descend into that labyrinth of absolute darkness.

He shook away his thoughts, standing up to walk towards the door.

"Pack lightly; time to choose only your favorite book. I'll be back tonight. Better catch up on sleep, you'll need it!" Midi was weighing options on which two books would come in handy the most, when he processed what Martingale said.

"Wait, how long is the trip?"

As he was exiting through the front door, he gave a final reply, punctuated by his door.

"The train will have to stop at Appleloosa since the tracks are still damaged. The rest we'll be walking, so… probably four hours!"

As the thought of walking four hours across a rocky landscape was playing throughout his head, Midi promptly fell back asleep at his writing desk. His dreams were beset with uncertainty and unease.


	2. Chapter 2

**~A/N~**

 **Here's the next chapter**

 **for you guys. We are**

 **nearing the end of this**

 **short story! Enjoy!**

 **~End A/N~**

The symmetry of countless rows and columns of Appleloosan trees extending across the landscape had a cumulative effect on Martingale. As the Friendship Express powered along the rails that crisscrossed Equestria, his mind was frequently recalling the sequence of events just before he visited Midi, who was currently occupied with pouring himself over his father's published works. Every now and then, the train wagon he occupied would rattle and jump, preventing any stray thoughts from wandering far. But he always found himself returning to the same unanswered questions.

Moreover, he was confused as to why Midi seemed to have little concern about his father's absence. Perhaps it was his trust in the Canterlot Royal Guard. ' _We are, after all, tasked with the utmost duties one could undertake,'_ Martingale thought.

' _Then again, staring into the desert wasn't anything to write home about.'_

Four Days Ago...

Watching Truedart expertly navigate the rugged cliffsides with high spirits was not an unusual sight in and of itself. He'd always been an explorer at heart, even when there was a destination. What was unusual, at least to Martin, was that the inspiration for their spontaneous ascent of the red sandstone was nothing more than a natural cave high above them. He recalled the times in their youth when summer days were made for hunting down shipwrecks along the coastline by the marsh, and summer nights meant your favorite bedtime adventure that you could never stay awake long enough to catch the ending.

As a Canterlot Royal Guard, for him to retain the wanderlust and spirit of exploration within the gates of academia and professional duty was admirable. Given that the other two guards on duty were tasked with speaking to the locals, searching the area was the other option, which is precisely what Truedart had in mind. Martin trusted his friend to keep himself out of danger and trouble, and began searching a bit more horizontally instead of continuing to climb upwards. Without any wind, he could hear up to a great distance, and his vision was equally sharp.

As Martin noticed the sun lowering in the sky, he called out for his friend Truedart to regroup and call it a night. As a response, the glint of steel emerged from the hilltop, followed by a voice.

"I'll be down shortly, Marty! Hang in there!"

After a few moments, Truedart deftly maneuvered the rocks and began walking back with his friend toward their post, sporting a grin. Even after an intense heat clad in armor and mind-numbing comb of the hills, Martin found himself sharing the positive mood. Whenever Dart had discovered something, it would make his day. In the context of history and archaeology, those discoveries were fantastic indeed. Before he realized it, they had both arrived at the makeshift base camp they had set up near a natural sandstone arch, serving as an easily visible landmark.

"It was a wonderful sight! Bones that seemed to have been tied together, evidence of fire pits, clay pot fragments… I'm kicking myself for having forgotten my journal! I have to return-"

"Now, Dart, I'm sure if it's been there for centuries, it's not going anywhere," reassured Martin. He and Truedart were placing their armor beside their bedrolls and blowing out the candles as the other two guards in their adjacent camp just a few yards away were trading night shift to keep an eye on the tracks they had spent the day clearing of boulders.

"Get some shut-eye. It'll be morning before you know it, and then you'll get to walk those caves all you want. We've got one more afternoon, and we'll be off to our homes by this time tomorrow. Just, uh, don't put anything in the report, gotcha?" Martin punctuated his point with a smile and a wink.

Truedart returned the gesture and threw the covers over himself, knowing he'll be a bit too giddy for a while to really be able to sleep.

"Gotcha."

His thoughts were swirling about with the vistas of knowledge that may very well lay hidden in those old mountains; mysteries of the Gahal that had managed to elude the grasp of fellow historians. ' _What luck!'_ he thought to himself. It had to have been an hour by now, and Martin was long asleep. He silently uncovered himself and gathered a few nocturnal essentials with him, such as materials to light a fire, a small knife, and warm clothing, leaving behind his armor for the disadvantage of unnecessary weight and the possibility of being seen; he knew the arid Badlands to be equally unforgiving under the gaze of the sun as well as in its absence.

A gibbous moon drifted across the vault of night, a lantern for Dart's vanishing act into the mouths of sleeping mountains. His senses were keen to danger, though most of the twilight fauna would scurry at his step. The crunch of sand underhoof echoed about the cave as he wandered in, followed by the scraping of flint against his knife. After more preparations, a small campfire soon lit the surrounding sandstone, keeping Truedart warm. The fire was set in a niche of the cave wall, to protect against wind from any deeper chambers.

At first, Dart kept an eye on the moon's position in the sky to determine how long he'd been away from camp, as he planned to return before first light. His fire may not even burn for more than a few more hours. It wasn't long before he fashioned a torch to explore the depths. He had already piled any artifacts of significance at the entrance so that upon his next visit, he could store them in a knapsack to carry home and study. No willpower would wrest him from his descent; Truedart felt spellbound.

Back at the campsite, Martingale had been lying awake for some time, fully aware his friend had escaped into the darkness. ' _Would it be worth the trouble of following him? He could certainly defend himself… but who knows what no-good delinquents are staying out there. Clearly someone's been destroying the railroads nearby. They're probably stashing goods up in the caves. But Dart could only hold off so many of them. Hell, I should probably go find him. All it takes is some old bones and the guy thinks he's Daring Do. That level of enthusiasm for the living citizens of this world would surely help him achieve great things in the Royal Guard...'_

Martin was only wearing a partial suit of armor, following the same logic his friend had. Only he brought with him a broadsword and whistle, in case he needed to alert the night watch that stood sentinel back at the base. ' _Thank goodness they're facing the other direction. I don't wanna have to report Dart's shenanigans.'_ Martin thought.

The particular low-lying mountain which he remembers the cave to inhabit was distinct enough to remember and locate, even in the dark. Once climbing high enough and looking from the appropriate angle, he could see the shadow of a pony dancing against the wall in the cave above him. The silhouette appeared vaguely to represent Dart's shape, and he watched it appear to stamp out the fire which cast it on the inside of the cavern. After a moment, the mouth was enshrouded once again.

Martingale hastened to reach the cave, in hopes he would catch whoever had been there only seconds ago. As soon as he reached his destination, nobody was in sight. His ears could detect nothing, save for the faint crackle of embers next to him. The next few moments were spent rekindling the flame and searching the cave for as long as the light could reach out. For as far as he knew, the system extended for miles down. Throwing a small rock into the shadows proved nothing but that. None of the sticks that composed his only light source were large enough to provide a good torch.

' _Shoot, I didn't think I'd need to explore this far... Dart told me one of those myths about a guy lost in a cave, or a labyrinth or somethin'. He just followed the wall, always turning the same way, didn't he? If I keep doing that, then I can turn around and reverse my steps, and I'll be able to get out. Okay. Just keep touching the wall. The things I do to find you, Dart… You better have a good reason for destroying your fire. If that was you...'_

Total darkness had a way of igniting the imagination. Martin stopped every once in a short while to listen for anything, but the deep, subtle rumble of breathing wind throughout the caves was the only ambience provided. There were moments when his head would brush the ceiling of the cave, or his steel plate would scrape the stone on his left side. It had only been perhaps ten minutes when an opening presented itself ahead. Another cave mouth revealed a moonlit plateau of sorts on the mountainside, facing an area of the Badlands unfamiliar to him.

The edge of the rocky platform revealed a precipitous drop down the mountain. Any trip in that direction was certain doom. ' _Still no sign of Dart, or anyone at all.'_

Martin had to make a tough decision between searching more of the abyss behind him, or to return to camp in hopes that his friend would have the luck and fortitude to do the same before he was lost. Even at sun's zenith, vision down the treacherous passages was limited. Since his friend had ventured out alone at night by choice, then the implications and dangers were fully understood. But he was also Martin's best friend, and fellow guard. Leaving him behind was terribly dishonorable on several counts.

In the midst of conflicting thoughts, he chanced an about-face as he tended to walk about during complicated decision-making. His eyes met with several pairs of glaring eyes reflecting the gibbous moon, motionlessly watching him from the cave mouth. Startled, Martin composed himself after a moment.

"You there! State your business and intentions. Surely you're up to no good wandering these caves at night."

The eyes offered no response. One figure stepped forward into the pale blanket of moonlight, revealing their haunting and grotesque features; sunken, heavy eyes, lifeless pupils, weathered gray hair and skin. Total absence of a cutie mark. Crudely stitched leather worn about the body. Depressing grimace and aspect.

Something about the atmosphere surrounding them was latently menacing, and Martin's hair stood on end. Common criminals or outlaws would either challenge an authority or flee. ' _It was the crazy ones that just stood there,'_ by his experience. It made no sense to him. Before he had time to think about his next moves, the ghastly band had advanced on Martin, and he made an unconscious decision to draw his sword. Chattering teeth clenched the grip, manifested by fear and anxiety.

Anyone on the business end of a weapon would realize their adverse position, and would at least hesitate to take further action. The mysterious individuals apparently made no realization, still advancing on him. He charged forward, preparing to engage anyone who was in his path with his body and his neck-height blade. He didn't expect one of them to grab his broadsword by the mouth, and he stopped to see it between the muzzle of the leather-cloaked figure, his face now streaming blood from deep cuts to his cheeks. The now crimson-stained weapon fell to the ground, and Martin fled in hysterics, shoving through the weak bodies clamoring his own.

' _Follow the wall, turn right- no left, I turned right before! It's left… shit, who were they!? Some crazy cave dwellers? Zombies? Am I losing it in this damn desert!? I don't even care, I have to get to the base camp! I hope to Celestia herself that Dart is back by now! I should… where's my whistle? No, it was ripped off of me! I can't get it now… just have to keep moving until I'm out!'_

Martin's panicked state of mind was only heightened by the absolute darkness of the caves. But he knew he only had minutes before the stone portal to the hillside was upon him, and the blessed path to safety, security, and best of all, sanity. At last he tumbled out of the black, and raced his way between the jagged sandstone and dead brush. He dared not stop to look back, reasoning that every second he had on them was an opportunity for them to give up the chase. He finally reached camp just before sunrise.

There was only his lonely tent remaining instead of the two that were set up for the four of them. Martin spied a note stuck to his tent flap, wondering if the other guards were informed that there was no more work to be done; perhaps the investigation had come to a dead end already. Before reading the note, he checked to see if Truedart had indeed made it back safely.

His heart sank when he saw the same disturbed sleeping bag as he did when he left hours ago in search of his friend. Martin's panic melted into a sober melancholy. He turned to the note, written by the captain himself.

' _To the four Royal Guardsponies tasked with investigating the damaged railways south of Dodge City and the surrounding farmlands at the edge of the Badlands: early status reports that you have sent in suggest that no further group activity is necessary. You may all return to your homes or posts. I will send a letter to the mayors of nearby settlements to reach a decision concerning maintenance. You are dismissed.'_

 _\- Shining Armor, Captain of the Royal Guard_

Martin realized that he alone has any clue to his friend's fate, and before he returns to the dreadful depths, he needed to take action. Preparations to defend himself, and to let his loved ones know the situation. He began packing all of his and his friend's belongings with an unsettling mixture of haste, determination and despair, knowing his next steps to be crucial, requiring clear thought and the ignorance of everyone to these events.


	3. Chapter 3

**~A/N~**

 **This chapter was later**

 **than I hoped, but it's**

 **coming along well!**

 **Things move quickly**

 **in this story, so if you**

 **skim when you read,**

 **you'll miss something!**

 **~End A/N~**

De Profundis

Present Day…

Martingale and Midnight Oil stood at the sandstone archway which defined the entry point of the Badlands. Deep red mountains walled the region, delineating a clear distinction between itself and the swamplands to the east, the steamy jungles to the south, and the perilous ravines to the west. Pinnacles of rock stippled the sand for miles, and the only other feature was a faint settlement or outpost that could very well have been a mirage. They were truly alone.

Martin took lead to direct the both of them to his previous campsite. " _I thought he'd never have to spend another day in this damned heat,"_ he thought to himself. " _But it's for Truedart. It's for both of them."_

Upon arrival, the two spent the better part of the afternoon setting up their pavilion and laying out their tools and provisions, with Midi being put in charge of checking that their supply list was in correspondence with the supplies themselves. He surveyed the organized layout. " _Two days of food and water… check. Sleeping bags… check. Mirrors for location... check. Lanterns and fuel… check. Fire starting supplies… check. Pocketknife, yep. Spear…? Why'd he bring a spear? Uh, check."_ Soon the work was completed, and night fell.

"Alright, Midi, I know we just got here, but we've expended enough energy for today, and we should reserve our search plans for tomorrow," Martin reasoned. Midi was unhappy and forgetful that he generally had more energy, and less stamina, than a pony twice his age.

"But every moment we wait is more time for my dad to be dying in this desert. I can't afford to waste any time, I've got to look for him now." He punctuated his point by making an effort to search alone, but Martingale stepped into his path.

"I can't let you do that. You don't know where to look. Besides..." he sighed.

"I can't afford to lose both of you to whatever may be out there." Midi cocked his head in response.

"What do you mean? Did you see something on your last day?"

Martin paused as he considered the appropriate way to tell him, but ultimately decided against it. Looking up towards the rocky hills, and to that ever-watching cave mouth in particular, he said.

"I got lost in the caverns up in that mountain just before I came to find you. The heat got to my head, and I hallucinated. I saw horrible things. Just keep your wits and common sense in your pocket, that's all. I'm afraid that those visions I narrowly escaped from are what may be the reason your father is still here. Natural darkness will only make us more paranoid, even with lanterns. We should save that as well and use the sunlight to our advantage." Midi was unsure about this decision. " _Maybe dad would say the same thing to me if his friend were lost out here,"_ he thought, before speaking his mind.

"Alright, I trust you. We'll get some rest for tomorrow. But I'll be up at sunrise, and you can bet I'll wake you up the moment I can see past my own hooves." Martingale laughed.

"Glad to hear it. But I'm a Royal Guard, I'm an early bird anyway. I'll probably be the one waking you up." He looked over to the western horizon; pastel clouds drifted effortlessly above the silhouette of a dormant mountain range. He and Midi settled into the warmth of their sleeping bags, a lantern sat between them. Even with the situation at hoof, both of their minds could sleep somewhat peacefully.

Later that night…

Martin awoke with a start; just before, grotesque nightmare apparitions gnawed at his mind and flesh, forcing him awake, his only escape being the real world. A bitter irony, he would have realized, had he thought about it. In truth, he wasn't certain that those denizens of the deep really were a hallucination. After all, where had his broadsword gone? And what of Truedart's obsession with this 'gahal' culture? The macabre name certainly fit their nature. Could an isolated group or tribe have survived for generations underground? What is there to eat for one stallion, let alone a dozen or more? Truedart himself in his studious zeal would likely have exposed himself to greater depths than himself in the search for a groundbreaking discovery or even the quest for knowledge itself.

A full moon glimpsed through dark clouds down on their campsite, and Martin in his troubled conscience decided to return alone to the depths, this time better prepared. He silently gathered his spear and the other lantern, tying it to his armor before setting off into the foreboding hills. Whether or not woe would beget him, he was prepared to find out.

An hour or so afterward, Midi found himself waking up to nothing in particular that he could discern among his blurry senses. Perhaps it was the general and unfamiliar stillness of the Badlands, or the particular crackling and hissing of his hearth. Something compelled him to be awake at this hour. He chanced a look at the mountains and above, momentarily in awe of the beauty of the night sky wherever the cloud cover had broken to reveal a glimmering lake of stars. However, another glint stole his eyes, one that appeared to be near the top of the hills out in the dark. Midi was confused, and when he looked over to where Martin was sleeping, he was nowhere to be found. " _Is that Martin…? It can't be anyone else. Why would he signal me, but not wake me up?"_ he asked himself, but he had no proper answer.

He grabbed a few supplies, though he reasoned to leave the only other lantern at base camp to find it in the night if he had to, and Martin most certainly had his with him. Galloping towards the winking light with intermittent moonbeams drawing a path, Midi suddenly felt an unplaceable paranoia set in, complementing his uncertainty of the whole situation. And the closer he got, the deeper this feeling sank into the pit of his stomach. There was a latent knot forming, and it worsened when he finally reached the cave, just after the signal vanished into obscurity. Now in total darkness, and without a lantern, he had the choice to return to camp and sleep or to peruse the caves to find Martin and possibly his father as well.

After a thought, Midnight Oil stepped into the absolute unknown. Feeling the smoothed walls of the cave as his only reference, every step was beset with unease, every sound was a remote anxiety. Every breath was held until he remembered to exhale. It had been only a few moments, and he wondered if he should call out for Martin, certain that he would have to hear it unless he was at such great depths that the sound simply wouldn't carry that far. In fact, he wondered just how far the cave system reached. Before any further thoughts had time to manifest, Midi heard a single hoofstep crunch in the sand somewhere around him. Whipping around, he was unable to discern the direction or the source and felt panic rising. Then, before he could begin to run back out of the cave, a dull blow struck the back of his head. Midi let out a pained cry, and he crumpled senselessly to the ground.


End file.
